Efflorescence
by In a Quandary
Summary: Prequel to Coalescence. Born anew, Lightning wants nothing more than a normal life with a dash of companionship. Hope is all too happy to oblige, but she hasn't accounted for the aftereffects of his and her past traumas – and the fact that he'd carried a millennium-long torch for her. Older Hope/Lightning. Post-LR. Multi-chapter, ongoing.
1. Stage Zero – Germination

**Title:** Efflorescence

 **Genre:** Romance/Drama/Slice-of-life

 **Rating:** T

 **Warnings:** Adult themes, occasional coarse language. Explores elements of PTSD. Contains spoilers from FFXIII trilogy and FFXIII: Reminiscence ~ Tracer of Memories. And bucketloads of angst, but that's to be expected from me.

 **Plot Summary:** Prequel to _Coalescence_. Born anew, Lightning wants nothing more than a normal life – with a little companionship. Her partner is all too happy to offer himself, but what she hadn't accounted for were the aftereffects of their past traumas – and the fact that he'd carried a millennium-long torch for her. Older Hope/Lightning. Post-LR. Multi-chapter, ongoing.

 **A/N** : After I finished _Coalescence_ , I realised that there was a substantial amount of backstory material. Enough to flesh out into a full-blown story of its own. Here's the result. Enjoy!

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 **Stage Zero – Germination**

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Hope was _taller than her_.

That was the third and most jarring thing Lightning registered upon seeing him in the new world.

The first was that he'd been reincarnated in his true adult form. _That_ didn't come as a surprise; the Hope she'd interacted with during those fated thirteen days carried the disposition of someone far older than his youthful appearance suggested. After everything he'd built and accomplished and endured throughout the years, having his efforts undone – by virtue of rewinding his journey to maturity – would be a terrible insult. While it would make sense to restart with their original ages, she was glad he'd been spared that.

The second was that he was so achingly familiar despite his adult face. His fair features were no less delicate than they'd been as a teenager, only now they made him handsome ( _devastatingly_ _so_ , she thought with a catch of breath) rather than effeminate. While the plumpness of his cheeks had given way to an angular, defined jaw, his eyes remained the same. An vibrant shade of wintergreen, they shone with the same intelligence and openness she remembered from their l'Cie days. His silver hair had even retained its trademark fluffiness, smoothed down only at the back. Grown-up or otherwise, he was _still_ Hope.

And he now towered over her.

Well, 'towered' was a bit of an exaggeration (only Snow deserved that moniker), but their height reversal threw her off. The last time they'd been in each other's physical presence, he'd barely come up to her chin. It seemed that not only had he reached her eye level, he'd surpassed it by at least three inches. Having watched him grow up from Valhalla, she'd known he would be above average height – which was to say, _taller than her_. However, the face-to-face acknowledgement of this fact – of _him_ – made her imagination pale in comparison.

As though his thoughts ran down similar lines, Hope himself was staring at her, undisguised awe and disbelief in his expression.

"Light," he breathed her name, breaking the silence. "Is that… _really_ you?"

"Who else?" She felt her lips tug upwards in a radiant smile. "You said we'd be together. So here I am, upholding _your_ promise." She couldn't resist the little gibe.

His right hand drifted towards her, seemingly of its own volition. "It's hard to believe you're really here." There was a distinct waver to his voice, which was deeper than she recalled. _Older_. "Three months have already gone by since I—since _we've_ appeared. That's not very long in the scheme of things, but…" he faltered, letting his hand droop back to his side.

"I've looked for you the whole time," she reassured him gently.

A smile broke out on his face, small but genuine, and moisture glimmered in the corners of his eyes. "I know you have."

He took a halting step towards her, the action speaking of enormous restraint. When she made no move to back away – silently giving him her assent – he closed the distance between them in a rush, arms fastening shut around her.

"Goddess, Light. I've missed you. _So much_."

His voice was raw, almost bestial with grief, and he clutched her for dear life, as though afraid she would slip through his fingers if he were to let go. One of his hands entwined itself in her hair, while the other dug into her opposite bicep, its grip so tight that it was almost painful. Caged within his arms like this, she could feel his whole body shake with the force of his emotion. He was rasping her name against her nape in a broken mantra, breath hitching every few seconds.

Under normal circumstances, she'd feel great discomfort at such a sentimental display. Her typical response would be to offer a consoling pat and attempt to disengage with as much grace and swiftness as possible. (Or in Mog's case, a decidedly _un_ gracious flick to the forehead.)

But this was Hope. The one who'd somehow wriggled past her thorny defenses and found a place in her heart. The one she'd sworn to protect. The same person verging on breakdown because she'd finally returned to him after long, torturous eons apart.

This was her _partner_.

So against all natural inclination, she let her arms encircle his waist and hugged him back.

The effect was immediate: he relaxed against her. This caused her to relax in turn, and she felt his mood shift, losing the jagged edge of desperation to become something softer, warmer. He nuzzled her temple, unknotting his fingers to comb through her hair instead. The sensation was unexpectedly pleasant, and she tightened her arms around him, succumbing to his touch. Thus enraptured, they held each other, letting the world dissolve around them until there was nothing left but him and her.

Amid their tender, wordless exchange, Lightning realised something.

Hope was _no longer_ a boy.

It'd come without warning, this _awareness_ of him. His scent surrounded her, a mix of freshly laundered clothes and cologne and spicy musk. It was a crisp, masculine scent, one that bore only a vague resemblance to that of his younger self, but she inhaled deeply, breathing him in. Pressed up against him, she couldn't help but notice how very grown-up and _male_ he was. His shoulders had a pleasing breadth to them, his frame was lean but solid, and his arms bespoke a quiet strength where they'd wrapped around her. While he was by no means burly, he'd grown large enough that his embrace encompassed her fully.

Here in his arms, she felt _safe_.

That wasn't to say she hadn't felt safe with him before. Even as l'Cie, she'd drawn – not quite comfort, _assurance_ more like — from his presence at her back. He was unpractised but vigilant, determined to honour his side of their pact to protect each other. When they'd paired up again at the world's end, his constant chatter had been a balm upon her soul. The intel he provided had grounded her in battle and foreign places alike, but there were also moments where he'd broken through their emotionless barrier with real concern for her. It had coalesced what remained of her fading humanity, soothing her even as she resigned herself to Etro's lonely fate.

But this was different.

Although Lightning wouldn't admit it, the countless years spent alone in Valhalla had left her starved for physical contact (only from desired company, mind you). With her emotions in full functioning order once more, she'd savoured Serah's warmth and closeness whenever they held each other in the new world. Yet there was something in Hope's touch that her sister's had lacked. Perhaps it had to do with his taller, larger form, or the fierce protectiveness – even _possessiveness_ – in which he cradled her, but she felt her worries melting away. Ensconced in his arms, she felt at peace, sheltered against the harshness of the world.

Never had she known that a man's embrace could be so comforting.

They remained like this for several minutes, revelling in their proximity to one another. Then Hope's soft, earnest tenor broke through her trance, delivered as an exhalation into her ear:

"I'm so glad to have you back, Light."

She burrowed her head into hollow of his neck, unwilling to disturb the feeling of contentment that had stolen over her. "Me too, Hope," she murmured against his shirt collar, no less earnest herself.

Her reply must have satisfied him, for he stepped back from her, unravelling their embrace. Disappointment, acute and unanticipated, welled up inside her at the loss of contact, held at bay only by the fact that he'd let his hands linger on her forearms. His fingers were warm against her skin (he'd forgone his ever-present gloves, another difference about him), contrasting with the cool autumn air. She peered up into his face, all too conscious of the fact that she had to tilt her neck back in order to do so.

Had she ever noticed how _expressive_ his wintergreen eyes were? Right now, they overflowed with happiness and affection – all of it directed at _her_. She found herself entranced by them, her heart fluttering inside her ribcage like a trapped bird. It fluttered still harder when he blinked, causing tears to spill over and trickle down the already-damp paths across his cheeks.

Hope had been crying for her.

This realisation hit her like a palpable force, making it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Overcome by a powerful, inexplicable urge, Lightning reached up with tremulous fingers to touch his face, brushing away the glistening evidence of his anguish. He responded by covering her hand with his own, leaning unabashedly into her palm. His eyes drifted shut in evident rapture, as though he were drinking up her very presence itself.

Then his fingertips made contact with her cheek, startling her even as she became aware of the hot, moist prickle behind her own eyelids. Looking rather moved himself, Hope had reciprocated her gesture with equal, if not more tenderness. But that wasn't what caught her attention.

No, what _had_ caught her attention was the fact that his touch _burned_ her.

It snapped her out of the reverie they'd somehow fallen into, thrusting her back into reality. Even now, she could feel the trail of heated skin his caress had left behind. Was _still_ leaving behind; he hadn't stopped stroking her cheek. Unthinking, she'd taken liberties with his person and permitted him to do the same, which had escalated their moment to something far too intimate for her comfort. In short, they'd overstepped her boundaries.

Which meant one thing: she had to diffuse the situation _now_.

She'd go insane otherwise.

Pushing aside the maddening distraction that was his hand, Lightning tried for her usual snark. "Since when did you get taller than me? I have to look up at you now," she added, not quite managing a grumble.

Hope laughed at that, a pure, uninhibited expression of joy. The sound was beautiful as it was rich, warming her heart even as it stirred an odd, tingling sensation in her belly.

"Light, I grew up a long time ago."

She nodded. "It'd be nearly a thousand years since then, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah." Melancholy seeped into his eyes, manifesting in the quiet timbre of his voice. "I know it's foolish, but sometimes I still wish you were with me."

Upon hearing those words, Lightning felt a cold, familiar wash of guilt, drowning out whatever new, foreign feelings their closeness had evoked only moments ago. Through the timeless lens of Valhalla, she'd borne witness to his lonely struggle to adulthood, watching how he'd fought despair when their friends left him one by one. When _she'd_ left him.

"I'm sorry," she lamented. "I wish I could've shared those years with you, too."

He shook his head. "Don't be." Reaching forward, he took her hands, prompting her to look down at them. His larger hands engulfed her own, his long, elegant fingers interweaving with her battle-roughened ones in a mesmerising tapestry. "We all had our parts to play back then. But the future is ours now. And we'll share it together."

"Yes, together." Gripped by newfound determination, she cast her eyes upwards, meeting his gaze. She would never leave him again, not if she could help it.

Her declaration made him start, as though she'd snapped him out of _his_ reverie. "Ah, I seem to have forgotten my manners." He withdrew from her – again, she felt a odd, disconcerting pang of _loss_ – and retreated to the opened door behind him, gesturing inside. "Why don't you come in?"

"I was wondering when you'd offer," she huffed, keen to reestablish some sense of equilibrium.

"Can't keep a lady waiting forever, can I?" her protégé-turned-man returned smoothly. He jerked his head in the direction of the awaiting entrance. "After you."

Smiling despite herself, Lightning picked up her briefcase and strode towards him. Ever observant of household etiquette, she scraped the soles of her sandals on the doormat before stepping over the threshold into his home. He followed suit, shutting the door behind them.

She'd found Hope. They were together again, she and her partner.

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 **A/N:** Ah, it's the infamous reunion scene – with more than a dash of delicious sexual tension. Remember, reviews are love!


	2. Stage One – Nascence, Part I

**A/N:** Special mention to TheNotSoTalentedPoet, who'd agreed to be my beta and contributed many wonderful ideas! This chapter was becoming rather lengthy, so I elected to split it into two parts. I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so here's the next instalment. Please let me know what you think – in the form of a review. ;-)

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 **Stage One – Nascence**

 **Part I**

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Conversing with Hope was as easy as it'd always been.

They were sprawled across his couch, with him in the armchair and Lightning in the adjacent loveseat. He looked relaxed in a way she'd never seen before (not that they'd had much opportunity for relaxation during their strife-filled stint as l'Cie, and Bhunivelze had taken away that very capacity itself when he'd presided over them). Though his chatter was energetic, it belied the lazy ease of his accompanying gesticulations, the tranquil cast of his gaze. He was finally at peace, and it filled her up with warmth inside.

The sun had drifted across the sky throughout the course of their discussion, which begun with the circumstances of their rebirth. Upon awakening in the new world, they and their friends had found themselves bearing two sets of memories. For them, it'd felt like a seamless transition between the events of Bhunivelze's defeat and taking up their (blissfully mundane) lives here. Apparently, this phenomenon was unique to them; only they could recall their shared past with perfect clarity.

"Why are we the only ones who can remember things like this?" Lightning mused aloud, tracing the rim of her now-empty mug of tea with a fingertip. "What makes us special?

"There's no way to know for sure," Hope replied, his wintergreen eyes speculative. "But I suspect it's to do with our closeness to you. You make up the epicentre of influence. Since you're the one who determined that we retain our memories, it stands to reason that you'd reap the full benefit of this decision. Being your family and friends, we were in your immediate proximity, and thus received the same treatment. Conversely, the further removed someone is from you, the harder it'll be for them to remember."

Hope's theory made sense, insofar as her observations of other people went. On the rare occasion where she'd stumble across a familiar face, she would see a spark of recognition in their eyes. It wasn't enough to trigger a confrontation; more often than not they would cast a quick glance before going about their own business. Rarer still were her encounters with people whose souls she'd actually rescued. Those had gone as far as calling out to her, asking if they'd met before. Her response would be to wave them away with a smile and say – with no small amount of irony – 'maybe in another life'.

Whatever Serah's protests, it wasn't as though she was being unsociable on purpose. But she didn't want to dredge up memories of her former self, not when everyone remained so blessedly ignorant. Under no circumstances did she wish to resume the mantle of Saviour. She was no shining paragon of humanity, just a tired, unlucky warrior who'd made too many mistakes and wound up as God's pawn. Couldn't everyone just leave her and her scars be? Perhaps it was selfish of her, but Lightning was grateful that the world had by and large forgotten her.

"Don't feel bad about it, Light." Her partner gave her a sympathetic look. "To tell you the truth, I'm relieved, too."

Like her, Hope had welcomed his own lack of notoriety. After all the stress and posturing he'd undergone as the Academy Director and humanity's de-facto leader, a quiet life couldn't appeal more to him. Not that he'd retired from contributing to human society altogether; he just didn't feel the need to do so on a grand scale. Or rather, the world no longer needed him in that capacity. For it was truly as he and Lightning had envisioned: free from gods, shaped by mankind's efforts alone.

She tilted her head towards him inquisitively. "So, who does this make you now?"

"Me? I'm just Hope Estheim," he replied with a self-deprecating smile that made her heart twinge. "A perfectly ordinary person."

"Or scientist extraordinaire, more like."

He let out a sigh that was more fond than exasperated. "Am I right in saying Snow coined that? He does like to exaggerate my abilities."

"And you give yourself too little credit." She waggled her finger at him.

Hope may have reclaimed anonymity, but his brilliance still preceded him. A cursory search in the new world's information banks had revealed him as a rising star in the frontier of clinical engineering research. He'd made a point of avoiding prominent leadership roles though, slipping into the backseat of researcher once more. Working behind the scenes was his true element, so he said. Whatever skill he'd demonstrated for politics was born of necessity, not genuine interest.

He'd adopted a new field of expertise: bionics. After watching disease and injury wreck havoc on the unaging populace during the Chaotic Era, he wanted to direct his efforts towards mending the human body. (It was in his nature; she recalled how strongly he'd gravitated towards – and _excelled at_ – the role of medic as l'Cie.) Yet he couldn't abandon his old loves of technology and invention. Researching and developing prostheses thus represented a happy medium, interweaving the three.

From most perspectives, restoring people to physical wholeness would seem rather insignificant next to his past achievements. Few things could top the creation of a floating planet, and fewer still, the task of guiding humankind in times of literal Chaos. But she was proud of him all the same. While adversity had produced an excellent world leader out of him, the fact that he'd now agreed to less didn't diminish how remarkable of a person he'd become. After all, there was something compelling about a man who loved what he did.

Hope had really grown up.

And Lightning found herself increasingly drawn to him.

His eyes lit up when they delved further into the topic of his research, and it took a surprising amount of willpower not to stare at them. Simply put, they were _mesmerising_. His passion shone through in twin blazes of iridescent green, making him seem so _alive_. But even as she wrenched her gaze away from those attention-magnets, she couldn't help but dwell on other parts of him.

Like his voice.

Try as she might, she couldn't follow Hope's chatter. Having lost herself amidst the technical garble a few sentences ago, she concentrated on the way he sounded instead. He had a pleasant tenor, soft like his gentle heart, yet smooth with maturity. 'Dignified' would be how she'd describe it, not least because it hinted at an underlying power – one that came from exercising real authority and insight.

It had the same mesmerising effect as his eyes. Without much effort on her part at all, Lightning tuned in to the fluctuations in pitch, the little stresses and twists he'd place on words as they flowed out of him. She especially liked the way he said her name, his tongue wrapping around the single syllable before expelling it in one silken breath—

"—Light? Light, are you even listening to me?"

His question shook her out of her stupor. "Yes," she recovered hastily, trying not to let her distraction show. "I'm just having trouble following. It's not that you do a bad job of explaining things, but I don't know half the terms you use."

"Sorry about that," he muttered, having the grace to look sheepish. "It can be incomprehensible to people outside the profession. I guess I got carried away."

She dismissed his apology with a careless wave. "Trade jargon, I know. In any case, I'm glad you love your work."

A smile played across his lips, full and content. It made him more handsome than he already was, and she had to tamp down the impulse to gawk. "I really do. It's a privilege not many can claim, and I'm grateful for it."

Absently, he reached for his mug he'd left on the coffee table, only to realise it was empty (like hers). Sinking back into his armchair, he turned his full attention upon her, curiosity foremost in his expression.

"Alright, that's enough about me. Let's hear your story."

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "There isn't much to hear. Unlike you, I'm a bona-fide nobody."

"That's quite a step down from Saviour," he quipped, eyes twinkling with mischief. "How the mighty have fallen."

A satisfying 'oomph' escaped him as she grabbed a nearby cushion and swatted him with it. "Says you, former world leader."

"Hey, a researcher is a perfectly respectable occupation."

"Oh, so now you're gonna lord that over me?" She clutched her cushion tighter, raising it threateningly.

He held up his palms in surrender. "Not at all. Being a nobody's fine. You deserve all the peace and quiet you can get." He let his hands fall back to his sides, wistfulness stealing over his features. "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

She set down her cushion, overtaken by an unexpected surge of guilt. "I did it for Serah," she admitted quietly. "Saving everyone else was only a secondary concern."

If Bhunivelze hadn't dangled her sister's salvation before her like a carrot on a stick, what then? Would she have slept on till the end of days, oblivious to the world burning around her? Would she have left her friends, even her dear, trusted partner – all of whom were only here as a result of her choices – to perish in the flames?

The thought was unbearable.

"I know," the aforementioned partner replied in a voice full of understanding, as though he really knew what was going through her head. "But that doesn't change the fact that we owe you something immense." He reached over the couch to lay his hand over hers. Warmth radiated from the points where his fingertips made contact with her skin, sending tiny prickles up her arm. "Thank you, Light."

His gaze was fixed upon hers, his wintergreen eyes brimming with sincerity. It was all she could do not to drown in them. Tearing herself away with an almost painful effort, she sucked in a breath, trying to still the jittery sensations that had suddenly taken up residence in her stomach.

Why was he affecting her like this? Even though she appreciated his sentiment (however misdirected; he should really be thanking Serah for spurring her into action in the first place), it shouldn't warrant this kind of reaction from her.

"Y-You're welcome," she finally managed to garble out.

Sensing her discomfort, Hope withdrew his hand. Relief flooded her in an instant, accompanied by an equally powerful feeling of loss (she was just a mass of contradictions, wasn't she?). A cough lifted her out of her part confused, part self-denigrating thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

"You still haven't told me your story."

"Like I said, there isn't much to tell," she explained, tapping into her other set of memories. "I still left school early, and did a bunch of odd jobs to keep us – me and Serah – afloat."

His eyes grew wide, and the reason for that became clear with the next question he posed to her. "You didn't get your parents back?"

Hope's perceptiveness was impressive; he'd honed onto her unspoken implication. Alas, he was correct.

"I guess I didn't wish hard enough for them," she conceded, shaking her head. "I loved my mother, but it's like she's part of a long forgotten past. And I knew even less about my father, who died when I was very young. In the end, being with Serah again was all that mattered to me. So my life here echoed the one in the old world."

It was sobering to learn that the alternate version of her had gone through the same tragedy. Apparently, being the Saviour didn't mean an automatic entitlement to an idyllic life. What _did_ surprise her was her calm acceptance of this fact. Her mother's passing was something she'd long since come to terms with. It had shaped her – for the better _and_ the worse – and set her on the path to adulthood. Undoing this event would therefore be tantamount to cutting out an integral part of her identity.

Oblivious to her musings, Hope's expression had morphed into one of horrified sympathy. "Light, I am _so_ sorry."

Again, she shook her head. "Don't be. We may have all been reborn, but nothing's changed about me. I can take comfort in that fact, at least."

He didn't look convinced, but she had no argument beyond a simple recitation of her belief. Doubting that _that_ would sway him, she elected to redirect the focus onto him instead.

"What about you? Did you find your parents?"

"Yes," he sighed, ostensibly relieved at the change of subject. "In this world, they'd never left me. Another thing I can't thank you enough for."

As Hope elaborated on his new life with his parents, Lightning found herself adrift in reminiscence. She'd met Bartholomew Estheim once. The image her young protégé had painted was of a stern, authoritative man, but all she saw was a father who cared deeply for his son. Then there was Nora Estheim, whose violent death had formed the catalyst of Hope's quest for revenge. He'd come out of that ordeal stronger and wiser and kinder, but she wouldn't have wished that kind of pain upon anyone, much less him.

They were a family not unlike hers, torn apart by tragic circumstances. But fate had granted them a second chance together, and they seemed to be making the most out of that opportunity. After everything Hope had gone through – very little of which she was privy to, she acknowledged with not-insubstantial regret – he deserved happiness. Reuniting with his parents was key to that, and while it niggled at her that she hadn't received the same privilege, she couldn't be anything but glad for him.

"They'd like to meet with you someday," he revealed, turning an entreating palm towards her, "if that's okay with you?"

"Someday," she echoed, neither declining nor committing to his offer. She wasn't prepared to cross that bridge yet, not when Hope himself had only so recently made a reappearance in her life.

He nodded, accepting her tentative reply. "So, Light—or should I call you 'Claire'? It just occurred to me that you'd go by your old name now."

"While that's true, I prefer Light," she corrected him. "At least among old friends."

The corners of his lips tugged upwards in a nostalgic smile. "I prefer Light, too."

He'd assumed correctly: in this world, she went by 'Claire Farron'. That was her official name, which she maintained in public for consistency's sake. While 'Claire' comprised part of her identity – courtesy of Lumina's reintegration – the name no longer suited her. She'd become 'Lightning', then 'Light'. Light was her final, complete incarnation: neither the forlorn, repressed child nor the cold, callous soldier, but a combination of both, and much more. It was Light who learned the importance of expressing her thoughts and feelings, and how to rely on her friends. Light may just be a name, but it represented how far she'd come as a person, and who she wanted to remain.

"Besides, I think 'Light' suits you better," Hope went on, his voice filled with warmth. "It's the name of the person I—we've come to know and love."

There was a small, almost imperceptible hitch of breath as he switched pronouns, but she caught it. He'd clearly meant to say 'I'.

The implication was not lost on her. But surely he meant that he loved her as a friend, as she loved him (and the rest of them). That said, their bond surpassed mere friendship. They were _partners_ – a title she assigned to Hope and Hope alone. He was incredibly precious to her, second only to Serah. It wouldn't surprise her if he felt the same intense protectiveness and sense of security and belonging that she did towards him.

Yes, that must be it.

So she responded to his remark with a fond smile, and they carried on their discussion, which now revolved around their search for their friends and one another.

To her immeasurable joy and relief, she'd appeared alongside Serah in the new world. They'd barely had a week to acclimatise before Snow swaggered by (along with his coterie of NORA gang members), the ever-persistent hound to their trail. It was with a bittersweet ache that she watched Serah reunite with her lover, and although she'd had to fend off Snow's embrace with a shove and an irritated grunt, his addressing her by 'Sis' no longer irked her like it once did. Once ensured of Serah's safety – if Lightning could trust her sister's great lummox of a fiancé to do anything, it was to take care of her – she'd scoured the neighbouring region for hints of Hope's whereabouts. Ironically enough, she ran into all her other friends before she found him.

Her partner remained silent as Lightning recounted her tale, his unwavering gaze displaying his avid interest. After Snow, Sazh and his boy were the next two she'd stumbled upon. She was refuelling her car at a random petrol kiosk, and had been delighted to learn the identity of the store owner. Some two weeks later, an errand had taken her past an eclectic-looking flower shop in the adjacent suburb, where she met Noel and Yeul. She encountered Fang and Vanille on the road another two weeks after that; they were hitchhiking across the country, and she was only too happy to escort them to the next town.

The only one missing was Hope.

His networking profile showed that he worked at the main university in a nearby city, but little else. She'd gone there whenever time allowed (the car trip downtown took three hours in ideal traffic conditions, which was a sizeable investment in and of itself), hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But the campus grounds were enormous – she'd had to ask for directions once or twice – and her prey proved frustratingly elusive. It was only a matter of time, though. With each passing week, she homed ever closer to his location, until she scented out the lab he'd hidden himself away in.

But fate had other plans.

In the end, it was Serah and Snow who'd bumped into him on his way home. Lightning's eyes had gone wide as the exuberant text of 'GUESS WHO WE FOUND!' flashed on her phone screen. She'd called Serah straightaway, demanding to speak to him, and the familiar, if distorted voice (déjà vu, much?) that greeted her had made her heart skip a couple of beats. She'd wasted no time in collecting his address and insisting that she visit him at first opportunity ('Tomorrow?' he'd suggested in a tone awash with his namesake). The next morning, she'd thrown her packed briefcase into the car backseat and set off for his metropolitan residence, which turned out to be on the far side of the city.

On Hope's part, reuniting with his parents had taken first priority. Then he'd tasked himself with uncovering their online records (it was only at Serah's insistence that she'd opened – and neglected to maintain – a social media account, but Snow's well-decorated profile should've contained more than enough information to clue him in). Upon discovering that they hadn't materialised far away, he'd elected to stay put, waiting for them to find him instead. Not wanting to attract undue attention, he'd kept his own records sparse, leaving a smattering of hints for someone determined to track him down. Someone like herself.

"I knew you would come find me," he stated, his gaze steady upon hers. The words he chose were confident, but no more so than the way he spoke them: he truly believed in her.

She felt her lips curve into a smile. In this world of new, uncertain beginnings, Hope's faith in her was a priceless comfort. "I could hardly leave you alone, not when I'd already run into everyone else. Sorry if I ruined your peace and quiet," she added wryly.

To her surprise, he passed over her invitation for a witty retort, shaking his head instead. "I couldn't ask for anything better," he said in sombre tones. "You can't imagine how much this means to me. To have you here. To be together like this again." His hand drifted towards hers without apparent thought, but he caught himself in the next second and withdrew before it could reach its destination.

Being the focus of such sentimentality discomfited her even as it warmed her heart. "Tch, you're going mushy on me," she chided him, her fingers automatically reaching for her hair.

Her partner gave a bark of laughter, but the sound held more melancholy than actual mirth.

"Give me a break, Light. It's been a thousand years." His wintergreen eyes bored into hers, bright with unshed tears. "I really _did_ miss you."

The undiluted longing and pain – _so much pain!_ – in his gaze made her heart seize and stutter against her ribcage. She never realised that he felt so strongly towards her. While she had no doubt that he cared for her, this level of feeling indicated something much deeper, perhaps something on par with what she had for her beloved sister.

If he'd felt anything close to the _agony_ of losing Serah—

Suddenly overcome with compassion, she reenacted his aborted action, reaching out to lay her hand upon his. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked down at their joined hands. "Can you promise me that?" The words tumbled out of him in a quiet, almost inaudible plea.

It blinded her, this _compulsion_ to reassure him. "I'll make an effort to stick around, at the very least," she asserted. "We're _partners_ , Hope."

Her proclamation seemed to pacify him, and he let out a long, shaky breath. As he lifted his gaze to meet hers once more, she saw in his eyes a turbulence of thought, each clamouring to be voiced, given expression. Therefore it surprised – and _disappointed_ – her when he opened his mouth only to change the topic.

"Can't believe it's already half-past seven. Looks like we've talked the whole afternoon away. Feel like dinner?"

She pulled her hand away and glanced out the window – the sky was now a velvety shade of purple – then at the wall clock, verifying his claim. "Yeah, I'm pretty hungry."

"Cooking isn't my speciality, I'm afraid. Is Chinese take-out okay with you?"

"Sure thing."

"I know just the place." He extracted a pamphlet from a nearby paper basket and handed it to her. "They do deliveries, too."

After perusing the pamphlet, Lightning decided on stir-fry beef noodles (whereas her partner settled for crispy dumplings with rice). He called up the store to place their orders, and twenty minutes later – with their conversation taking a turn for the more lighthearted – the deliveryman arrived. Hope answered the door, and a brief exchange took place before he returned, packaged dinner in tow.

"Enjoy," he said, presenting her with a oblong paper box along with a pair of chopsticks.

Dinner was a simple, if somewhat interesting affair. Hope's eyes had sparkled with amusement when he relinquished one of his dumplings to her (she'd been eyeing them rather unsubtly, she supposed). Despite the transaction being one-sided, sharing food was unprecedented of her. She did not make a habit of asking for or receiving morsels from other people's plates, after all. The fact that she'd accepted his token – small though it may be – spoke volumes of the ease she felt in his presence.

Bellies filled, they disposed of their trash and passed the rest of the evening in amicable chatter. As the hours ticked down to midnight, it occurred to Lightning that this was the longest – and most enjoyable – conversation she'd ever held with anyone. While Hope was an excellent conversationalist, it amounted to more than that. Their dynamic had changed over the course of their relationship, from mentor and pupil, to comrades and partners, and now to something suspiciously like best friends. Without the threat of imminent disaster, and Hope restored to his true, fully fledged adult self, it became clear how _well_ they actually got along.

"It's almost boring, this world," she remarked, her hand twitching for a gunblade that was no longer there. "I'd happily take the absence of gods and fal'Cie, but there're no monsters to kill. All those years of combat training gone to waste…"

Her partner gave a brief chuckle. "You sound like an adrenaline junkie. I know I'd rather do without savage beasts threatening to disembowel me."

"There's something about the thrill of the fight that makes me feel alive," she explained, sighing. "I hate to say it, but I miss those days – if only for that."

"I feel you," he commiserated, his eyes glazed over in reminiscence. "Been there, done that, remember? But I'm always worrying about all the bad things that _could_ happen." He shook his head, giving a little shudder.

Of course; his line of work would make him appreciate the frailness of their human bodies. She understood this too; whatever the situation, she would always maintain some degree of caution. But countless years of magic and divinity had desensitised her, turning injury into a near inconsequential matter. Being mortal again was something she still had to readjust to.

"That's why you're the medic. You fix us up."

"Even so. I know it's inevitable, but I don't like seeing people get hurt. There's no sense in being reckless. Not that you ever were, Light." He cast his gaze downwards, his pale eyes blinking up at her from behind long, contrastingly dark lashes. "That's what I respected about you."

She nodded, acknowledging his compliment. Then a thought came to her. "Say, if I lose a leg," she said idly, tapping her index finger against her chin, "you'd be able to make me another one, right?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "But as you're no doubt aware, the technology here isn't as refined as our old world. It'd be a long, painful recovery process. Rehab would take several months, possibly a year. In the meantime, you wouldn't be able to work, go places – you'd lose your independence." His tone was light, contrasting with the gravity of his words.

She cocked her head, unsurprised that he'd already looked into the long-term repercussions. "Hmm, I didn't think as far as that."

"It's alright, Light. I'm sure you'd be able to indulge your thrill-seeking needs in other ways." Humour danced among the green eddies of his irises. " _Safer_ ways."

As evidenced by that conversation, they shared many similar views with different, if complementary approaches. He was forward-thinking, whereas she preferred to focus on the present (or the past), and he tempered her bluntness and stoicism with warmth and gentility. Instead of clashing, they played off each other's strengths and weaknesses. This harmonious interplay, combined with their unconditional acceptance of one another, was what had made them such good partners in the end.

Therefore, it was ironic that the perfectly mundane topic of sleeping arrangements would be one to stir up conflict between them.

"The couch is fine." Lightning stroked the arm of her loveseat, relishing the feel of smooth leather beneath her fingertips. Having spent an entire day here, she knew it would make a more-than-adequate bed.

However, Hope didn't agree with her opinion. "No, I must insist that you take the bed," he argued, brows knitted together in a frown.

"Look Hope, I've slept in worse places before."

"'Worse places' don't apply here."

She resisted the urge to place her hands on her hips. "It really _is_ fine."

"It _isn't_ ," he maintained, his exasperation becoming more pronounced with every word. "I can't, in good conscience, allow you to sleep on the couch when there's a perfectly good bed ready. You're my guest."

"And I'm saying that doesn't matter."

"Light, _please_." He locked gazes with her, entreaty in his eyes. "Allow me this one hospitality."

She huffed, realising that he wasn't going to relent on the matter. Why did he have to be so stubborn? "Fine."

A noise of similar frustration escaped him, and he looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe we're arguing over this."

Sleeping logistics could be a source of drama, even between Lightning and her sister, who'd shared the same bed numerous times. In the end, having multiple sleeping quarters was the best solution. "It'd be so much easier if you had another bedroom," she voiced her thought aloud, "or even an extra mattress."

The hand he'd lifted to his face went still, before drifting down to cup his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I didn't pick out this place with the intention of hosting sleepovers. Maybe that's an oversight."

"What, you're considering getting another place?" she burst out incredulously. "I wasn't being serious."

"Actually, yes." He turned back towards her, his expression intent. "Now that I know where all of you live, I'd like to be within reasonable travelling distance. A four-hour car journey is decidedly _not_ that."

"That's true. Still, you've got a pretty nice set-up here." She waved a hand around, indicating their well-furnished surroundings. "Wouldn't it be a hassle to give it up?"

He let out a soft exhalation, his eyes fluttering shut. "Maybe. But it'd be worth the sacrifice to have you all nearby."

"I understand, I think. I'm not particularly attached to my house either."

Wintergreen eyes flicked back open, alit with curiosity. "Hmm, why's that?"

Were it anyone but Hope asking that question, Lightning wouldn't be anywhere near as forthcoming with her answer. "Serah moved out with Snow a little while ago," she sighed. "It's not the same without her."

"You miss having her around?"

"Yeah," she affirmed, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts before elaborating further. "Company's nice, and you don't realise how much you miss it till it's gone. In Valhalla, I was alone. Even with battles to keep me occupied, the loneliness ate away at me. Then I got Serah back, and now she's left me again." She drew a deep breath before releasing it, the sound heavy with moroseness.

There was profound sympathy – and more than a flicker of understanding – in her partner's gaze. This time, he did not hesitate before reaching forward to take her hand. "You don't have to be alone, Light. Not anymore. What if I—what if _we_ —" he cut himself off and shook his head, as though he'd said too much.

Acutely aware of his larger hands cradling her own, Lightning decided to vocalise his unspoken statement. "You and me? Together?"

Hope visibly back-pedalled, exposing his wrists. "I'm sorry; that was rather presumptuous of me."

Several seconds passed by in which she pursed her lips, contemplating the suggestion. It did not rouse any feelings of discomfort – quite the contrary – and for her, that was sufficient grounds to continue. "Well, I'm not averse to the idea," she admitted, looking him in the eye. "I'd have to mull it over first, though."

His shoulders, which had tensed into rigid lines during those crucial few seconds, now relaxed. "Of course. It just sprang up on me, too."

"Why don't we talk about it tomorrow?" she offered.

He nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."


	3. Stage One – Nascence, Part II

**A/N:** A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! I really appreciate your feedback – you guys keep me happy, and so I keep writing. :-) Without further ado, I present the second half of the chapter:

* * *

xxx

 **Stage One – Nascence**

 **Part II**

xxx

The sheets smelled of _him_.

Not that Lightning made a deliberate point of sniffing Hope's bed, mind you. But the spicy musk she picked up from when they'd embraced earlier lingered, unavoidable. It wasn't overpowering or subtle, just _there_. Now, symbolism wasn't a route she normally traversed, but in this instance she couldn't help but draw parallels to the actual person himself. For Hope had always been there, steadfast and dependable, the ever-present shadow to her blazes of action.

That wasn't to say that his scent didn't have its own merits. It was among the more pleasant body odours she'd encountered; her military background had ensured a thorough, if involuntary (and often nauseating) knowledge of such matters. Without Hope's live presence to hold her back, she allowed herself a few deep breaths, appreciating the earthy, complex notes.

His scent wasn't like Serah's, which had sweeter, mellower overtones. Nor did it resemble the sea, whose salty fragrance comprised her other favourite (non-food) smell. Yet, as the musky air swirled inside her nostrils, she felt a sense of contentment settle over her. While _this_ didn't come as a surprise, it was uncanny that her appreciation of him would extend to his very biology itself.

 _It's as though everything about him was designed with my liking in mind or something._

Snorting at the fanciful thought, Lightning shifted onto her side, mind still whirring. There were more concrete things to think about, like the proposal Hope had (struggled to) put forward.

 _"What if we—?"_

 _We_. He and she. Together.

The more she considered it, the more appealing the idea became. It made plenty of sense from not only a practical standpoint, but also a social one (or lack thereof).

Firstly, they could share rent and expenses. Given that Hope worked in the city, and their friends lived in the countryside, the ideal relocation point would be the suburbs in between. For Lightning, this would be a beneficial move. Staying in a more populated region would improve her job opportunities and lessen commuting time (both of which presented very real problems to her at present). However, the higher accommodation prices and cost of living pushed the limits of her budget, which was where Hope's contribution came in.

Secondly, they had compatible lifestyles (something they touched on when their discussion delved into personal interests earlier). Both of them were quiet, reserved people who preferred to do their own thing. Unless she was horribly mistaken about him, there would be no forced interactions with outer circle acquaintances (read: strangers) or obtrusive loud music or bouts of drunken unruliness. If every night passed with him reading a book – or something equally introverted – while she did the same, she would be content.

Just as relevant was the fact that they _clicked_ with each other. Should Lightning hunger for company, she wouldn't need to look any further than her housemate. Their history and the past few hours were indication enough that they could hold a conversation, and she was certain they could negotiate their way around any potential conflicts that arose. Up to and including her pricklier living habits. She would have to warn him of those, but he'd been nothing but accepting of her.

Another salient point was their lack of attachments (insofar that she knew). Surely Hope wouldn't suggest moving in together if he were involved with someone; that would be too much of an imposition. Lightning herself had no intentions for dalliances. Her disdain for stereotypical romance aside, who would have the guts to venture past her icy shields, let alone understand her well enough to embrace the pile of broken goods that she was?

 _Well, Hope would_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lumina's piped up. _He already_ does.

 _No_ , Lightning shook her head, immediately dismissing the thought. That was foreign territory she didn't dare explore. It would be stupid to jeopardise a perfectly good friendship.

She directed her mind back to the topic at hand. There was one final prospect that proved to be the most enticing of all: she no longer had to be alone. For the reasons previously mentioned, there wasn't a better candidate to fill the role of companion than Hope himself. He connected with her on a level no one else could, and she'd never felt as safe or welcome as she did in his presence. Not to mention that he was in the same situation as her – lonely and isolated – and what better way to cure that than coming together?

They were truly two peas in a pod. It would work out; she was sure of it.

Lulled by images of domestic life with her partner and his welcoming scent, Lightning closed her eyes. Sleep overtook her soon afterwards.

* * *

She presented her points to Hope over breakfast the next morning (nothing fancy; just coffee and strawberry jam on toast). He'd nodded along agreeably – not surprising, given that he'd suggested the idea in the first place – and brought up a few points of his own, but the conclusion they reached was the same. Yes, moving in together would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

"Are you sure you want to stay with me, though?" she probed, giving him a chance to back out of the decision (and hoping that he didn't). "I'm not the easiest person to live with."

"Of course I do," he asserted, favouring her with an intent look. "I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise. As for not being an easy person to live with, I have my own peculiarities as well."

"What peculiarities?"

Her partner ducked his head, sheepish all of a sudden. "I made an effort to tidy up before you came here, but I can get a bit… messy. And I get the feeling that you don't tolerate mess well."

She felt her lips tighten in a frown. While she appreciated him being considerate on this occasion, she'd have difficulty living with a full-time slob. "You'd be right about that."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers again, and she saw in their wintergreen depths a mixture of defiance and pleading. "Look, I'll endeavour to meet your standards, but I can't guarantee that all the time. You'll need to cut me some slack."

"It'll depend on how severe your mess is," she returned, recognising his efforts to come to a compromise. "I'll warn you if it gets on my nerves."

He nodded. "That's fair enough. Also, I don't have the most regular sleeping pattern." A furrow formed between his brows as he said this, betraying his concern.

"By that, you mean that I might find you wandering the house at weird hours?" She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that. I sleep like a log nowadays."

"Strange, I never got _that_ impression."

"I used to sleep very deeply as a child," she elaborated. "That changed when I enlisted into the military, and while we were l'Cie, I forced myself to stay alert. Then I lost the ability to sleep altogether when I became Etro's knight, which remained the case until we were reborn. But now that I don't have to worry about being hunted down – or the world ending – I've lapsed into that one childhood habit."

"I see." Hope's demeanour shifted into one of deep relief, which was more than she expected for something so seemingly trivial. Not that it bothered her. Had he deemed further explanation necessary, he would've given it already.

Giving an internal shrug, she continued, "That said, I hope it doesn't bother you when I wake up early for my morning jog."

"How early is early?"

"Five-thirty."

A grimace twisted his handsome features. "Geez, that's positively unholy."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, not at all," he back-pedalled, though his tone contained a hint of sarcasm, which became more pronounced with his next words. "Only an idiot would deprive you of your gruelling exercise regimen."

"If you think that's gruelling," she pointed out, unable to resist the taunt, "you wouldn't have lasted a day in drill training."

"Last I checked, you're the soldier, not me," he countered smoothly. "I'm just the nerdy sidekick. The one who, y'know, comes up with all the brilliant ideas?"

She nearly snorted into her coffee. "You flatter yourself."

"Come on, Light." There was merriment dancing in his eyes. "You gotta admit blowing up the set in Yusnaan was quite the stroke of genius."

"Flashiness, more like. I still can't believe you suggested that. I never pegged you as a fan of such wanton destruction."

"Well, it worked, didn't it? And the fireworks were spectacular. I recognised that much, even if I didn't have the capacity for full enjoyment at the time."

"We both didn't." It was a simple statement of fact, but one that hung over their heads like a black cloud. She and Hope had been God's tools back then, hearts sterile and unfeeling even as the dazzling lights shimmered above them. The rebirthing process had restored their emotions to them – something she'd accepted as a matter of course, their just reward for granting salvation to all. But were there lingering consequences to their near-godhood? What if she woke up one day only to feel nothing again?

Seized by a sudden disquiet, Lightning snatched her mug and took a noisy gulp, seeking some form of distraction.

Hope turned towards her, _understanding_ blazing green fire in his eyes. It was completely unlike the cold, emotionless stare of his Ark counterpart, and this fact calmed her. "All the more reason to appreciate what we have now," he murmured, letting his hand drift across the table to cover hers. This time, the sizzle of contact was anything but unwelcome, forcing her to clench the handle tighter for fear that her fingers would otherwise unfurl to catch his.

"Yeah."

"Anyways, we're getting sidetracked." He brushed his thumb across her knuckles – an innocuous yet bold move – before pulling his hand away, leaving her teetering on the edge of discomfort and anticipation. "Have you considered how we'd go about doing chores?"

It took her a few seconds to register his question; so scattered were her wits. She was being ridiculous, overreacting like this. Letting out a sharp breath, Lightning put further thoughts of his touch firmly out of her mind and focussed on answering.

They resumed their discussion, which now canvassed the finer points of household duties. It boiled down to them cleaning up after themselves (laundry included) and doing whatever needed immediate attention. They would take turns cooking (or buying takeaway) and convene on weekly grocery shopping trips. Common areas like the living room and kitchen would be cleaned fortnightly (Lightning spearheaded this one), but their rooms were their own responsibility.

Satisfied that they'd sorted out an arrangement, Hope proceeded to pull up potential rental places on his laptop. Having already thought ahead – and surmised correctly that she'd agree to cohabiting with him – he'd done some research overnight. They narrowed down the list to several promising sites, but Lightning knew better than to trust the wordy descriptions and strategically angled pictures that so often featured in real estate ads. So long as the place was clean, sound of structure and designed for utility, she would be happy to settle.

"Well, if you've got no commitments for today," her partner suggested, his wintergreen eyes alit with eagerness, "why don't we have a look at some of these places?

She felt her lips quirk upwards. "Sure, why not?"

* * *

Finding a suitable home wasn't as easy as she imagined.

They'd already been through nine places (stopping over at a cafe for lunch) by late afternoon, but none of them had caught her attention. It amounted to a series of unanticipated deal-breakers: the ceiling was too low, the setup too haphazard, the kitchen space not big enough, the furnishings too 'granny-like' ( _that_ particularly offended Hope's tastes, to her snorting amusement), the lack of adequate parking space. So on and so forth. Now en route to their tenth and final inspection of the day, Lightning could no longer conceal her impatience.

"Well, that turned out to be a waste of time," she huffed, arms tightly folded.

"Don't worry, Light," her partner replied, tapping his fingers idly against the steering wheel. "I'm sure we'll come across something we like. If not today, we can organise another trip."

"Yeah. I just thought we'd have hit the right place by now."

"Fingers crossed for the lucky last one?"

Hope's relaxed attitude had remained a constant throughout the entire excursion. It showed in the calm, laid-back manner in which he drove, providing a soothing counterpoint to her nervous energy. Were it not for his company, she would've worked herself into certain aggravation by now.

Not to mention that she enjoyed seeing this side of him – the mundane, ordinary side, removed from the urgency that pervaded their interactions in the old world. It was as though she was getting to know him all over again. As the day went by, she gleaned numerous little things about him, like the fact that he shunned gardening ( _"not because I dislike the concept, but it says a lot when you somehow manage to kill cacti"_ ), adored alphabet fridge magnets ( _"if only I had the time to build up a collection of clever phrases like that"_ ) and favoured the colour orange ( _"a shame it's too bright to fit in with most home décor"_ ). These details made him more real, more solid – like his growing presence in her life – and she carefully stored them away into her mind.

Having plotted their course beforehand, they arrived at their destination within twenty minutes. The small, nondescript brick house was the final entry in a group of units, eliminating the need to maintain a front yard (which immediately earned a tick of approval from Hope). A cursory examination of the garage told her there was enough room to fit both of their cars inside, scoring another tick. As Lightning stepped past the threshold into the living room, she was gripped by a mounting sense of excitement.

The layout was both functional and compact, optimising use of the limited space. Cleaning would be a breeze with the tiled floor, and her keen eyes had yet to detect any glaring structural flaws. A small strip of lawn and accompanying pavement were all that comprised the backyard, which suited their minimal garden preferences just fine. While there was no en suite, they agreed that the larger of the two bedrooms would go to Hope (he had way more stuff than her – namely, boxes upon boxes of electronics and work materials).

Since the owners had stripped down all the furniture and decorations, they'd have to bring in their own. Not that this presented a problem, as Hope was quite happy to donate his expensive entertainment unit, among other knick-knacks. Lightning, on the other hand, had little to offer, having given away all the best items to Serah (and salvaged replacements from secondhand shops).

"It's alright, Light," Hope assured her as they examined the bathroom. "I'll gladly provide whatever we need. Or if you prefer, we can go furniture-shopping and split the cost of purchase."

"I'd like that," Lightning murmured, running a absent finger around the rim of the porcelain basin. She was quite impressed by her partner's tactfulness, to be honest. Despite her less-than-ideal financial position, she still felt the need to contribute – something he'd respected and formulated a solution around.

After they'd had their run of the house, she and Hope went on to survey the surrounding neighbourhood. Location-wise, this place couldn't be better: within walking distance from the railway station (meaning Hope could circumvent on-road traffic congestion by hopping on the train straight to work) and the local shops. There was also a nearby park that Lightning could weave into the route of her morning jog, a library further up the street, and even a gym facility.

They'd saved the best residence for last, indeed.

Now standing on the front porch, Lightning swept her gaze along the red brick walls of unit seventy-eight. What had seemed so unassuming at first glance turned out to be the perfect answer to their needs.

"This is it," she breathed, voice filled with wonder.

Hope, who stood next to her, gave a slow nod. There was a world of emotion in his wintergreen eyes. "Let's make it ours?"

"Yeah."

His arm came to rest around her shoulders, lingering even after several moments had passed. She found that she didn't mind.

* * *

" _No way_ ," Serah blurted, her already high soprano soaring into its shriller, ear-splitting ranges. "You're moving in with Hope?"

Despite the fact that her sister wouldn't be able to see it, Lightning gave an irritated frown, clutching the phone closer to her mouth. "Yes, I thought I made that clear."

"I don't think you fully comprehend the situation here," the younger Farron went on, exasperation tuning down her pitch to a more bearable frequency. "You're moving in. With _Hope_. And it's taken you only one night to reach this decision."

"Yes. So what? Why are you making it out to be such a big deal?"

There was a soft slap – did Serah just palm her forehead? "Geez, you can be so dense, Claire."

"If I'm that dense," Lightning couldn't prevent the grouchiness that crept up on her words, "why don't you spell it out for me?"

Her sister sighed. "Do you like him?"

That elicited an owlish blink from her. "Of course. We get along."

"Not the answer I was looking for." She could picture Serah waggling a slim finger. "Lemme rephrase that. Do you dig him? Do you think he's hot?"

Unbidden, her mind brought up fresh memories of Hope's entrancing green eyes, the warm timbre of his voice, the spicy musk that she'd found impossible to ignore. Of how solid and _masculine_ his body had felt when he'd enfolded her into his arms, drawing her close. She immediately shut them out.

"Wha—No! We're just friends."

Serah gave a disbelieving sniff. "Just friends. Riiiiight. And you've decided to move in with him after spending one night doing nothing but _talking_ with him."

"You make it sound so risqué," Lightning grumbled, resisting the sudden and very childish urge to stomp her foot. "We didn't do anything but talk."

"That's exactly my point!" Serah's tone had taken on a triumphant quality, like all the times she'd managed to appeal to their mother after a sisterly spat. "Since when do you make such a big decision like that so quickly?"

"I didn't see a reason not to," Lightning protested. Hesitating for a brief moment – Serah deserved to know the truth, after all – she closed her eyes and continued quietly, "Our house is so empty without you."

Her sister's demeanour switched from smug to sympathetic in an instant. "Oh, _Claire_. You're moving in with him because you're lonely?"

She let her eyes drift open. "Yeah. There are other reasons of course, like sharing expenses, and having similar lifestyles—"

"Claire, I can move back in with you." There was a tense, desperate edge to Serah's words.

Lightning bowed her head, sinking teeth into her lower lip. The temptation to give in to Serah's offer was overwhelming – even _painful_ – but she couldn't allow it. That would be the height of selfishness. "No. That's not fair on you or Snow. You deserve to be happy together."

"But what about you?" her sister argued. "You deserve to be happy too! And if I'm the one responsible—"

"Serah, _no_." She let out a harsh exhalation, running the fingers of her free hand through her hair. "Don't make it harder than it is."

"Claire, I'm so sorry." Dismay was bleeding into Serah's voice now. "I got so caught up with being with Snow again; I—I didn't realise."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Lightning replied coolly. "I'll be fine with Hope. Really."

"I can believe that, at least," Serah said, sounding mollified. "He really cares for you, you know."

At this, Lightning found herself revisiting recent interactions with her partner. One thing was clear through it all: Hope had her best interests at heart. "Yeah, I know."

"Not to mention he's quite easy on the eyes," the younger Farron pointed out suggestively.

" _Serah_ —" she growled, but her sister cut her off.

"Come on, Claire." There was no mistaking it; Serah had lapsed into the dreamy state that typically came with boy gossip. "You gotta admit the guy's _gorgeous_. And smart. And kind. I wonder how many hearts he's broken with that smile of his," she added thoughtfully; Lightning pictured fingers tapping against a tapered chin.

By contrast, she was pinching her lips together in a disapproving frown. "I thought you were marrying Snow."

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view," countered her sister blithely. "Besides, Snow knows he's the only one for me. And I'll bet good money that Hope would like to be yours—"

"Goddammit Serah, he and I are just friends!" she burst out. For all their differences, mulishness _had_ to be one of the few traits that she and her sister shared.

"I don't think he wants it to stay that way."

"You don't think he wants—" Lightning snapped to a halt as her brain processed Serah's statement, "— _what_?"

"Claire," her sister went on, all seriousness now, "the first thing he asked when Snow and I met him was where you were. And you should've seen him on the phone with you. It was as though all the lights in the city came on in his eyes."

While Lightning knew of Serah's romantic slant when it came to viewing such matters, she couldn't deny that her sister was onto something there. "Well, he said he missed me," she admitted, thinking back on Hope's heartfelt words.

As expected, the younger Farron latched onto that tidbit like a puppy to a chew-toy. "He said that, huh? What else did he say? Or do?"

"He hugged me. When we first met."

"Please tell me you hugged him back," her sister said flatly.

"Of course," Lightning retorted as though the answer were obvious. "He was crying." Although their reunion had taken place three full days ago, the memory of it – of his _tears_ – still yanked at her heart.

Serah was silent for a few seconds. When she next spoke, her question came out hushed. "Was he crying because he was sad, or happy?"

Lightning scrutinised the memory. While anguish had been evident in the way he'd first clutched her, the joy that radiated from his eyes afterwards was profound and unmistakable. "Both, I'd say. Apart from you, I haven't seen anyone show so much emotion towards me."

"Wow." There was undisguised awe in her sister's voice. "Coming from you, that's a loaded statement."

"Yeah."

"If I had any doubts before, they're all gone now," Serah said, the certainty in her voice building with every word. "Claire, the guy is totally in love with you."

This dramatic proclamation caused Lightning's breath to escape in a surprised rush. "Don't—don't say things like that, Serah."

"You don't... trust my judgment?" her sister asked softly. Her voice had wavered for only a fraction of a second, but Lightning caught the note of hurt within.

"It's not that," she replied, fidgeting with sudden discomfort. "Look, I'm not ready to deal with any of this. I just want my partner back."

"You have him. All of him, if I'm not mistaken."

She had to stamp down the urge to tear through her hair again; it was probably quite mussed by now. "Serah, will you let up for just _one_ second?"

Her sister huffed. "Alright. But you can't keep running away. Especially now that you'll be living with him."

"I know."

"Well, if you wanna talk about it – or _him_ – I'm only a call away." It seemed that the younger Farron couldn't resist one final attempt at meddling.

Lightning rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the offer."

"Hey, that's what a good younger sister does, right?" Serah returned cheerfully, not the least put off by her sarcasm. "Play matchmaker to their grumpy, relationship-avoiding older sis?

"At least you admit it."

"I only want you to be happy, Claire," her sister declared, whiplashing back to a serious mood once more.

Recognising the opportunity to deflect attention, Lightning responded in kind, "The same goes for you, Serah."

"I'm plenty happy as is," her sister countered, belligerent. "I have you, and Snow, and all our friends. I'm gonna get married, and I'm on my way to becoming a teacher again. My life is set." Her voice took on a pleading note. "Why don't you start thinking about yours for a change?"

The question took Lightning aback. "I…" she tried, but couldn't muster the words. What could she say? Having dedicated her entire life to caring for Serah's welfare, she knew no other course of action.

"Claire, you really _are_ your own worst enemy, sometimes." Serah sounded sad and exasperated at the same time.

"Hmph."

"There you are, giving me that huff again." Although the pose was impossible to pull off while talking into the phone at the same time, she could imagine Serah with hands on hips. "You know I'm right."

Unable to argue _that_ point, Lightning fell back on a stock excuse. "Some things are easier said than done."

Her sister remained unswayed. "Just promise me you'll try, okay?"

"Fine," Lightning sighed, resigned. "I'll try."

"Thank you, Claire." Serah gave a sigh of her own, before continuing in warmer, gentler tones, "You know I love you with all my heart, don't you?"

 _Yeah, except for the part Snow stole away with his cheer and optimism and all the things I couldn't give you_ , Lightning thought with more forlornness than resentment. _Now you no longer need me._ "I know. Love you too."

They talked late into the afternoon. After confirming Serah and Snow's availability to assist with moving day, she ended the call and sank back into her well-worn armchair, mind abuzz with thought. It was nearing dinnertime, but she couldn't summon the will to get up and scrape something together from the meagre contents of her fridge. Instead, she turned over her conversation with Serah. Reluctant though she was to contemplate her sister's deductions about Hope, Lightning found herself doing that very thing.

Despite her inexperience – becoming Serah's full-time carer had left little time for her own pursuits, let alone relationships – she was no stranger to the matters of romance. Although couple-watching could hardly be described as her favourite hobby, she'd observed enough things to recognise what was taking place. Not to mention that she'd had her share of run-ins being the object of lust. (Many of those were resolved in a less-than-diplomatic fashion, but there had been several times – in both old _and_ new pasts – where she'd exploited the situation to sate her own needs, however fleetingly.)

Now that Serah had brought it to her attention, she couldn't help but reinterpret Hope's (recent) behaviour. What she had initially dismissed as friendly overtures took on a different meaning. Come to think of it, his body language was that of an _interested_ man. His gaze was piercing yet tender whenever it landed upon her, and while he'd never touched her in an inappropriate manner, it left her with the impression of terrible restraint. He also leaned towards her when she spoke, as though he were listening intently to every little thing she had to say. And she didn't miss his tendency to linger nearby either, situating himself as close as possible yet just far away enough as not to intrude on her personal space.

Most telling of all was the way he'd acted when suggesting to move in together. Even as he choked on his words and retreated immediately afterward, his hands had grasped hers for that one, poignant moment, giving him away. She'd supposed his reservation stemmed from not wanting to appear pushy – it was a big decision to make after all – but perhaps it was _forwardness_ that he sought to avoid?

Putting these signs together made Serah's conclusion all the more obvious. Could her sister be right? Could Hope really be in love with her—?

No, she didn't want to consider the possibility. She didn't dare. It presented a veritable minefield of questions – how, when, what to _do_ about it – that she was unwilling to examine at this point in time. They'd only just met each other as their true selves; couldn't she simply enjoy his company without this _complication_ hovering over their heads?

Determined to make dinner all of a sudden, Lightning leapt up from her seat and strode into the kitchen. But the idea – that Hope nurtured _feelings_ for her – had already taken root, and it sprouted in a dark corner of her mind, slowly but surely pervading her thoughts.

* * *

 **A/N** : Serah has dropped the bombshell and set the cogs in motion. Now Lightning finds herself in denial. She is – as her sister puts it – so frustratingly (and wonderfully) dense.

Oh, and please drop a review!


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